The poem before this one

said everything that I wanted to say
for the time being.
Perhaps with time
my torture will exceed my temperance
and I’ll once again don the suit and dive down
to take a look at the wreckage
and loot it for choice phrases
to be excavated, arranged and presented
on a bed of velvet
or tar.

I dove deep and tore off my heart’s
stickiest scab.
I want to tell you
how it stung in the open air,
but I said it best
in the last poem.